


When I Sleep, I Die (So I'd Rather Spill My Heart)

by awkwardCerberus



Series: Slow Down For A Moment (If Only Just For Me) [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm also bad at summaries, M/M, Nightmares, hawksilver - Freeform, idek wtf i was thinking with the title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4090381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardCerberus/pseuds/awkwardCerberus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people find happiness when the dream, however this doesn't apply to everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Sleep, I Die (So I'd Rather Spill My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> ohhhhh god please i hope this doesn't suck. I had it mapped out how i wanted it but it was getting waaaaaaay too long so i had to scrap that and...oi vey idek. so here's this. i also love wanda/vision so i'll be playing with that throughout this little series
> 
> and i don't know why i decided to continue with this title bc it fit my former idea but not this one, but i couldnt think of a new one so i kept this one and uuuuggggghhhh i should just stop nitpicking.

He opened his eyes, and suddenly he was eleven and back at the dining table. _Their_ dining table—the old wooden one their father had picked up from an estate sale with the chairs that were two coats of stain too dark to match. Wanda was on his right, picking the peas out of her stew with her spoon, like always; his father was on his left, buttering his bread and talking to his mother across the small kitchen about what had gone on at work that day. His mother was nodding and adding in a quiet “yes”, or a “mm” every so often while stirring a bowl of mashed potatoes. It was a Sunday. They always had beef stew and potatoes on Sunday.

“ _Pietro, is something the matter?_ ” His mother asked—in her soft Sokovian tongue that was always so gentle—as she sat down across from him and set the bowl down in the center of the table.

Pietro nodded absentmindedly and looked around the room like he was lost. Nothing was out of place, nothing was wrong, it was a typical Sunday dinner. All their shoes were by the door, Pietro’s and Wanda’s scuffed and dirty from where they had played in the old park that day. His father's coat was on the peg where it always was after work, and a basket of laundry that had yet to be washed was sitting in the hallway. He studied the apartment’s old wallpaper carefully, and soon found the ripple in the floral print that he was looking for: the paper around their stove had been warped and rippled for as long as he could remember—from the steam that came off the cooking, his mother always said.

Their father looked across the table for a second before looking back at his bowl, “ _Wanda, eat your peas.”_

His sister picked them up with her spoon, again, and took a bite—chewing and swallowing like she was eating something truly disgusting. Pietro smiled a little at his younger sister’s dramatics until she reached over and flicked his ear. He glared at her and she looked at him with what she was hoping was another mean glare, though it turned out as an angry pout. He laughed this time—a little snort through his nose that made Wanda turn red.

“ _Don't laugh at me!”_ She snapped in her high-pitched Sokovian (that Pietro always said sounded like a mouse throwing a fit) before she paused and flashed Pietro a mischievous smile, “ _or I'll tell Nika Yaroslava you like her.”_

It was Pietro's turn to bright red. “ _You better not—“_

_"Pietro! Wanda! Don't fight at the dinner table,”_ their father scolded, his voice tired and hard, but not mean.

The two of them murmured their apology and went back to eating. Wanda snuck her brother a little smile, and when he saw it, he made another small laugh through his nose and smiled back at her.

“Siblings….they're so….cute together.”

Pietro's head snapped up at looked over at where his mother was sitting. Only it wasn't his mother. It was Ultron. He sat there with head in his hand, twirling a spoon between his fingers causally. No one else in the room seemed to notice the giant evil robot that had taken the place of their mother. Pietro leaned over and yelled at his father about it, but all the older man did was ignore him. When he tried yelling at Wanda, she only scooped herself some potatoes.

Ultron slammed the spoon onto the table. “They can’t hear you. To them you're nothing but a ghost. You can't protect them. You won't be able to protect yourself. You will die and you'll leave your sister alone in the world, hating you, until she dies all by herself.”

Pietro bolted out of his chair but Ultron remained sitting—and suddenly his shirt felt wet and heavy. When he looked down, blood was pooling onto the fabric of his shirt. When he turned back to Ultron, they were no longer in the apartment, and Pietro was no longer eleven. He was his current age, and they were standing in the Sokovian church—Wanda falling to her knees screaming for the loss of her brother. The AI started smiling and stepped to the side, letting the older Maximoff get a full view of his broken sister. Her power was uncontrollable with her grief and washed through the small ruins like a red tsunami.

“You're gonna die, and you're gonna leave Wanda alone, and she will hate you for it. You left her. You left her high and dry, because you were too stupid and too hard-headed to think of her! You were too stupid to even think of your own sister!”

Pietro shook his head and began mouthing “no” until suddenly he was saying it. Wanda was still on her knees sobbing into her hands. When she looked up at the sky, she screamed his name so loud he though her lungs might burst.

The next moment he was falling.

 …

And then all of it was gone, and he was sitting up in bed gasping for air. Pietro ran a hand up through his messy hair, before resting both his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. He shivered when he felt a hand ran up his back, but after a moment, his muscles tensed again. Clint sat up beside him and pulled one of Pietro's hands away from his face—lacing it with his own and running a thumb along the speedster’s knuckles.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” he mumbled quietly, before wiping the sheen of cold sweat off his forehead with his free hand. The younger man looked over at the clock—3:37 it said in dull blue. Pietro took his hand back and squeezed the bridge of his nose for a long moment—cursing to himself in Sokovian. He numbly played with the corner of one of the thin bandages that remained on his hand. “It's always the same one…”

"Nightmares are bitches wrapped in bullshit, kid.” Even in the darkness of their room, Clint could easily see the dark circles under his boyfriend’s eyes. “I know you haven't been sleeping well, Pietro. Just like I know that sometimes you don't sleep at all. You can't stay awake forever, babe.”

“It's better than dying every night, hm?”

In a blue and white blur, the speedster zipped over to the mini-fridge in the corner and returned to the bed with a bottle of water. Even if he was still fast enough to barely see, Clint could tell he was too tired to go his full speed. And when he flopped down on the bed, he looked like he had just run a marathon—which was a small stretch, even for Pietro and his super speed. He drank about half the water bottle before capping it and haphazardly flinging it on the nightstand. After a moment of staring at his hands, he finally laid back down and reached behind his back for Clint's hand. The archer squeezed it reassuringly and began pressing tiny kisses into Pietro's back. It was only a couple minutes until Clint had completely fallen asleep, but Pietro was still awake. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to sleep—he would have loved to have been able to just get one single, perfect, night’s rest—it was that the fear of another nightmare was more than his desire to sleep.

And, when 8:45 finally rolled around, Pietro was still as wide awake as he had been five hours ago. When Clint finally rolled away from him, the speedster grabbed his shirt from the end of the bed and carefully pulled it on over the bandages that still remained on his skin. There weren't that many left, and the ones that were only poked through his shirt a little bit. The gauze that had been on his hand and arm were now just some regular Band-Aids—albeit rather large Band-Aids—and he was thankful that the bullet wound on his leg had healed enough to where he could at least run on it. And he had amazingly glad when he was cleared for training—even if it had been shorter sessions than usual.  He couldn't stand being slow for too long.

Pietro walked into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. He pulled his hair out of the way, but when he looked in the mirror, he cursed himself in Sokovian again. There were dark circles under his eyes—the heavy ones that gave away his not sleeping without even a second glance. Against his light skin and white hair, he looked almost like a ghost. He knew Wanda would get on him, but he didn't care. He felt Clint’s hands running up his sides underneath his shirt—the archer taking care to avoid the remaining bandages as he ran his fingers over the soft skin and hard muscle. Clint dug his face into Pietro's neck, pressing a kiss into his shoulder every couple of seconds as he moved up to the edge of Pietro's hair.

“You have, like, three percent body fat, ya know? It's like spooning a toothpick.” He spun the speedster around to face him, “you sister’s gonna tie you up from the lampposts if she finds out you’ve been letting this thingkeep you awake all night.”

“So I won't tell her. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.”

Clint simply let out a sigh, throwing his hands up in surrender and ran a hand through his hair until Pietro began to follow him to the kitchen. Every so often, their hands would bump together and finally Clint grabbed Pietro’s hand and squeezed it. Everyone was already standing around talking when they walked in, though more of the attention seemed to be on the half-conscious Pietro than anything else. Natasha looked up from her Pop-Tart long enough to give Clint a questioning look. The archer discreetly signed “nightmares”, and Natasha gave a understanding nod. The others caught on and went back to their business—nightmares being something they all had experience with. Wanda still kept an eye on her brother as she pulled a couple slices of bread from the bag and dropped them into the toaster. Clint had set a mug of coffee down in front of Pietro, and kissed the side of his head quietly before getting his own.

From across the kitchen, Wanda could see her brother's head already slipping out of where it was resting in his hand. With a few waves of her hand, she had wrapped his mug in red wisps and slid it across the counter, out of the way of his falling head. Instead of landing in his coffee, Pietro's forehead dropped onto the counter with a dull _thunk_ that left all the Avengers cringing.

“Thank you,” the speedster mumbled half-asleep as he picked his head up off the marble and lethargically reached for his coffee—rubbing his forehead as an afterthought.

Wanda pulled a packet of sugar from the jar next to the coffee maker and tossed at her brother. She had expected him to snatch it out of the air like he always does with things, but instead it hit him on the shoulder and bounced onto the counter.

The younger Maximoff plucked her toast from the toaster and flashed Pietro a snarky smile, “what? You didn't see that coming?” She let her brother force out a sarcastic laugh and lazily flip her the bird before she reached for the butter and continued, “have you not been sleeping?”

“S’nothing important,” he dismissed, pouring the sugar into his coffee and languidly flicking the wrapper into the trash. “Don't worry about it.”

Wanda sat down across from him at the island—pushing her toast around her plate with a bored finger—before bringing one of her hands parallel to her brother's face. Her fingertips had her red energy twisting around them. Pietro took a long sip from his coffee, irritably side-eyeing the red mist. To keep things private, they kept their quiet conversation in Sokovian.

“ _I'll look inside your head if I have to. You're lying, I know it.”_

_“I don't want to talk about it.”_

_“Pietro.”_

_“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”_ He took another drink from his coffee, “ _at least not here.”_

Wanda rolled her eyes and took a bite from her toast, “fine. Be stubborn.” She reached out to the other side of the counter and grabbed a muffin and a small plate. She set the plate on the counter in front of Pietro, and plopped the small pastry onto it with just enough force to help her point, “I might let you fall asleep in the kitchen, but I will not let you starve.”

Steve plucked a tablet from where a clip held it to the wall. He tapped on it for a second before returning it to where it was. “There. I rescheduled Pietro on the training roster.” He saw the Sokovian begin to protest, but cut him off before he could say anything, “no buts, Maximoff. Take some time off and come back when you can stay awake for more than two minutes.”

Pietro swore under his breath in Sokovian—warranting a small whack on the side of his head from Wanda. They all continued in silence, at least until the Vision walked in, calmly. No one really paid him any attention, except for Wanda, who looked up and smiled at him. The android put a hand on Wanda’s shoulder casually, and pretended not to notice the glare he was getting from her brother.

“Will you still be accompanying me in the simulation room this morning, Miss Maximoff?” he asked, coolly.

“Yes, in fact, I was going to head down in a few minutes.”

Pietro’s glare followed his sister’s hand up to where it had rested on the Vision’s. He scoffed into his coffee, at least until Wanda shot him one of her looks. She smiled when the android offered to escort her to the simulation room, gladly accepting his offer. Wanda deposited her plate in the sink, and shot her brother one last look before she walked out of the kitchen with the Vision offering her his arm. Pietro very nearly choked on his muffin when he saw his sister loop her hand around the android’s. Clint clapped the speedster on the back a few times until he was waved off.

Natasha inched closer to where Clint was now leaning on the counter, “I think he likes her.”

The archer tipped his eyebrows into his coffee and shrugged. “Pretty sure there’s chemistry the—ow! Babe…”

Pietro pulled his elbow out of Clint’s side. “That is my little sister. It’s weird to see her ‘liking’ someone. Whatever you think you see…I promise, there is nothing between those two.”

Tony smiled haughtily down at his phone, and immediately thought of the perfect quip. “Okay, well, your _little sister_ just went for a _private session_ with Viz. Emphasis on the ‘private’ and ‘session’. Just sayin’.”

This time Pietro choked on his coffee. The idea of Wanda and Vision together made his skin crawl. He was supposed to be looking out for her—supposed to protect her—and he couldn’t do that if she was running everywhere with that damn android. But, on the other hand, he wanted Wanda to be happy. And if being with Vision made her happy, then he couldn’t stop that. He didn’t even realize he was pinching his nose until he felt Clint softly rubbing at his neck.

Clint picked up Pietro’s other hand from the counter and tangled their fingers together. The archer pressed another kiss into his lover’s hair and gave a gentle tug on his hand, “c’mon, kid. Humor me.”

Pietro nodded, and languidly followed Clint back to their room. About half way there, he bumped into the wall on accident and that’s when suddenly he was—quite literally—swept off his feet and let Cling simply carry him the rest of the way. His head was just beginning to loll against the archer’s shoulder when the door opened and he was set down on their bed. Now, of all times, Pietro began to notice how heavy his limbs felt. He really did want to simply clock out for a good few hours, but with his luck he’d probably only get an hour or two.

“Friday, can you pull up the live-feed of my sister and Vision?” the speedster asked as he tugged his shirt over his head haphazardly.

“Certainly, sir.”

A small, holographic screen appeared in front of him. Pietro’s skin crawled again. The simulation room was a rather large space, but instead of one of Tony’s elaborate battle simulations spreading across the room, the space was completely empty aside from the Vision and his sister. Wanda was floating on a small cloud of red wisps about six or seven feet off the floor, with Vision floating parallel her—his arms outstretched to catch her if something happened.

_“Yes, that’s very good, Miss Maximoff,” he commended calmly and with the tiniest of smiles. “I find moving easiest if you tilt.”_

_Wanda began to gingerly tilt to the right, her hands twisting and looping and following the energy spilling from them. All of a sudden that energy was gone and she was slipping through the air. Without hesitating, Vision had already caught her in his arms. He slowly lowered the both of them onto the ground and let Wanda out of his arms._

_"Are you alright?”_

_"_ _Yes. Thank you…”_

She was smiling, and even with the feed zoomed out and slightly blurred, Pietro could see the shine in Wanda’s green eyes. His skin had stopped crawling and instead his heart felt like it was sinking. He hadn’t even noticed Clint come up on the bed until he had swiped the video away. Finally, Pietro got the message and settled under the sheets next to his lover. He nestled his head under Clint’s shoulder and let the other man absently twirl at his silver hair.

“Do you, like, not like Vision or something? You seemed uppity about him earlier.”

“No, it’s just…do you really think that Wanda likes him? It looks like she does. I want her to be happy now, but…” He let out a short sigh, “I don’t want her to get hurt. I know I won’t always be there to watch out for her—“

Clint propped himself up on his elbows, “kid, look. I get it, I do. But you can’t be there with her every second. And when you’re in our line of work, you need someone to be there for you. If you want Wanda to be happy, you have to give her the wiggle room to experiment. And, honestly, Vision is the best person…or android…or whatever…that she could pick.”

Pietro mumbled some Sokovian under his breath and rubbed at his eyes, “you’re right. But I still don’t like him.”

Clint gave a dry laugh and leaned down to kiss his speedster lovingly on the lips. “Now, _please_ , try and get a little sleep so you don’t drop dead later.”

Pietro pulled Clint back down next to him and they both wrapped their arms around the other. Although it took a while, Clint listened and waited until Pietro had fallen asleep until he let himself sleep.

For once, Pietro wasn’t scared of dying again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, this is un-beta'd so any mistakes are mine and I apologize.


End file.
